


Fast Times at Wardlow High

by olderbynow



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: ALL THE PAIRINGS - Freeform, F/F, F/M, High School AU, Oh Dear God What Am I Doing?, Present Day AU, The Thing That May Or May Not Be A Thing, The Thing That Wasn't A Thing But Became A Thing, Tumblr Concept Fic, all the characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olderbynow/pseuds/olderbynow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody's in High School and Phryne thinks Mac should get a girlfriend. Mac thinks Phryne should stay out of it and comes up with a suggestion of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heavyheadedgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/gifts).



> Inspired by Heavyheadedgal's tumblr post about a MFMM High School AU. Which it honestly had not occurred to me that the world needed until I read that post.  
> Thank you to Sarahtoo for lightning speed beta service.

“What about her?” Phryne suggests, indicating a girl with curly black hair with a nod of her head.

They’ve been playing this game for all of three minutes and Mac’s already bored with it. She sighs. Maybe she could suggest that they go to the library? “No.”

The girl is reading _Twilight_ , for God’s sake. Wasn’t that fad supposed to have died out years ago?

“Her, then?” Phryne goes on, unperturbed. “She has nice legs,” she comments, tilting her head as if the angle will somehow give her a better view, her own legs dangling off the wall they’ve seated themselves on to eat their lunch. Because tables are dull, apparently.

It’s true, she does have nice legs. “That’s Rosie Sanderson,” Mac says, as if that explains everything. Which it does.

Phryne rolls her eyes. “Now you’re just being difficult,” she teases.

“You know, I’m beginning to regret ever telling you.”

“No, you’re not.” Phryne smiles, that easy confidence Mac is sure will be the death of her one day.

She’s right, of course. Coming out to Phryne was terrifying, but in a ‘bite the bullet’ kind of way it also just had to be done. And she hasn’t _really_ regretted it for a second.

It’s just that it’s one thing talking about gay people you see on television or in magazines and saying it’s no big deal, why would anyone care. It’s not actually anything to do with you, so you can be as open-minded as you want, no one will really know if it’s true or not. It’s something else entirely when it’s your best friend, who you’ve had sleepovers with, shared a bed with, tried on bras in front of, who suddenly tells you that she Likes Girls.

So although Mac trusted her friend, she was also slightly worried that her friend would turn out not to be worthy of that trust and then what the hell was she supposed to do?

But Phryne had just shrugged and taken another sip of her milkshake before saying casually, “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Mac had argued, because how could she possibly?

Phryne had pulled a face and shrugged. “Okay, so I didn’t _know_ -know, but I knew.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, I guess always.”

And that had been that. Telling her parents hadn’t been any less scary; but at least now she knew she had her best friend on her side, and that helped. A lot.

Her parents had been surprisingly cool about it, actually. Her dad had done his ‘if I don’t say anything I’m not saying anything wrong’ thing, which Mac appreciated, and her mum had actually gone out and bought a freaking book called “I’m Raising A Lesbian” or something moronic like that. Which isn’t something you can really complain about, of course, so Mac doesn’t. Much.

But of course life should never be that easy, so now Mac has to deal with Phryne trying to find her a bloody girlfriend. To be honest she’d rather be forced to read her mum’s self-help book.

“What about her?”

Mac rolls her eyes, just about ready to shut this down for real, but then she realises who Phryne means and laughs. “Hilarious.”

“Phryne Fisher, that skirt is _not_ regulation length,” Prudence Stanley says sharply, slightly out of breath after her half-jog across the quad. “I don’t know what sort of dress code they have in England, but here we dress _properly_.” She eyes Mac’s dyed red hair, wishes there was something in the regulations against _that_. Really, why would anyone do that to themselves?

Phryne bites her lip, swallowing a laugh. “Sorry, Aunt Prudence. It must’ve shrunk in the wash.”

Mac snorts.

“That’s Mrs. Stanley while you’re in school, Phryne. I might be your aunt, but I’m also your headmistress.”

“Yes, Mrs. Stanley,” Phryne replies somehow managing to sound both obedient and impertinent. It’s a talent that never ceases to impress Mac.

Mrs. Stanley gives her a shrewd look but then walks away with a heavy sigh. She knows she’s being mocked but isn’t quite sure how and so she’s powerless to do anything about it. It’s a feeling she has entirely too often around her niece, and although she’d _like_ to blame it on the two years she spent in England getting up to all sorts, no doubt, after her father inherited, the truth is the girl has always been like this. It’s _definitely_ something she gets from her father’s side.

Behind her the two girls giggle. She ignores them.

“So… her?” Phryne says after just enough time has passed that Mac thinks she forgot what they were doing before.

Ugh.

“What about _him_?” Mac shoots back, mostly just to shut her up. Points at Jack Robinson, who’s bent over a book, eating a sandwich absent-mindedly. Mac doesn’t really know him, except for that she took Biology with him last year and he seemed smart enough, but she knows _of_ him, of course. He’s the reason the statement, “That’s Rosie Sanderson,” makes sense. (The Power Couple of the school for over a year and a half and then suddenly The Break Up, which came out of nowhere and which no-one expects to last. Mac included, if she could be bothered to have an opinion.) He’s also captain of the Debate team and - according to some people - a bit of a Swot.

Not Phryne’s type at all.

Which of course makes him _exactly_ Phryne’s type.

Mac looks at her friend who has her head tilted to the other side now and is looking at Jack thoughtfully. (Mac rolls her eyes, already mentally steeling herself for the joke that Phryne has a gay side and a straight side and you need to look at people from the right angle.)

Phryne doesn’t know Jack, either, but he’s in her Physics class, sits right in front of her, and she’d be lying if she said she minded staring at his back all through class, the way the muscles shift under the white poly-cotton blend of his shirt when he moves. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Mac’s eyes go wide and she wonders if Phryne actually doesn’t know about Jack and Rosie? Could she really be that immune to _all_ gossip, not just the stuff about herself? Or is it just that she really, really, really likes a challenge?

Either way, this is going to be fun.

Or a complete disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, okay. So this is a Thing now. But it’s going to be a ‘bumpy ride, irregular updates’ type thing, because I have _no clue_ what I’m doing here. Basically my knowledge of Australian high schools is based on watching entirely too much _Home and Away_ for about six months back around 2002. Also, I am very bad at multi chapter fics and I have only a sort of vague idea of where this is meant to be going. (And by “vague idea” I mean, “Hey, maybe in one chapter _this character_ could show up? And they should probably have a party at some point.” So, yeah.
> 
> GLHF, basically.

Hugh digs through his backpack, again. Checks his watch, again. Then the backpack. Again. He’s been standing on these stairs for over ten minutes now, watching other kids arriving to school in groups or on their own. Going inside, or hanging out on the steps for a bit first, enjoying their last few moments of freedom.

Except, that’s not what Hugh’s doing.

_He’s_ doing his best to look busy _and_ to not feel foolish, but both are getting harder and harder as time goes by. Not hard enough for him to give up and go inside, but pretty close.

There is also a very real chance that he’s waiting for nothing. That Jack Robinson already arrived and is inside, not realising Hugh’s out here waiting for him. It’s not as if they made plans to meet here or anything, after all.

It’s just that Jack’s captain of the year 11 Debate team, and Hugh’s on the year 9 team and his first ever competition is coming up and Jack’s team won Regionals last year.

Basically he could learn a _lot_ from Jack. So he goes through his backpack one more time, counting the books in there again (incredibly, there are still seven of them), waiting and trying not to look pathetic.

When he looks up, he sees a girl making her way slowly up the stairs, escorted by a woman who’s probably her mother. The girl looks frightened, like she might run away at any second.

Which would be terrible.

She might just be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with brown hair done in a way he vaguely recognises from one of the YouTube videos of people doing their hair his sister is always watching. The one she can never get right. The girl’s hugging a folder to her chest protectively and he can see the logo of an all girls school on the cover of it.

Her uniform looks crisp and brand new.

He swallows, staring at her, until she seems to realise she’s being watched and looks glances at him.

She turns to the woman. “Mum, I can go in on my own, it’s fine.”

“Don’t be silly,” her mother says dismissively, taking the stairs two steps at a time. “I need to talk to Headmistress Stanley. I want to make sure this is a decent school.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Mum,” the girl says, but to Hugh’s ears it doesn’t sound as if she really believes it.

Hugh opens his mouth and closes it again, twice, like a fish.

“Dot!” the girl’s mother calls from inside and the girl freezes, gives Hugh a brief, shy smile and hurries inside after her.

Hugh returns the smile, but by then she’s already gone. He sighs.

“Don’t worry, it’s not so bad here,” he says. “It’s a nice school, really. Hi, I’m Hugh.”

“Nice school, huh,” a voice says behind him and he turns.

“Oh. Hi, Jack.” Hugh smiles, relieved that at least one thing is going right this morning. “Yeah, uh,” he stammers, feels his cheeks turning red. “There was…”

“A girl?” Jack suggests, trying to keep a straight face.

Hugh nods, feeling miserable.

“Next time maybe say it to her face?”

Hugh sighs deeply. “I tried.”

He looks so forlorn Jack pats him on the back and starts moving. “Let’s get inside.”

Hugh hurries after him. “Yeah, Jack, I wanted to ask, about the debate next week, do you have any tips or anything? It’s my first one and…” he trails off, looks expectantly at Jack who stops in front of his locker.

“Just be prepared,” Jack says, dumping a few books in his small locker and digging out his Physics textbook. “Make sure you know your topic well, and that you know what you want to say. And how long it’ll take to say it.”

Hugh nods eagerly.

“Oh,” Jack adds, waving at Brent and Crossley as they approach. “And make sure you know what the _others_ are going to say.”

“Hey, Jack,” says Brent, throwing a supercilious, dismissive look at Hugh. Brent is how Jack learned that particular lesson the hard way.

“Thanks, Jack,” Hugh says, still nodding, still not going away, and Jack feels bad for him. He likes the kid, even if he is a bit on the eager side, but it’s clear that Brent and Crossley don’t, and they’re not the types to hold back.

“Why don’t you run along now, and you can see your boyfriend later,” Crossley says to Hugh.

“I… I…” Hugh stutters, looking at Jack, half-panicked, half-apologetic.

Jack smiles at him. “We can talk at lunch, okay? I’ll be in the quad, near the tree. Just come find me.”

Hugh nods and hurries away, as Jack turns on Crossley. “What are you, twelve? Calling someone ‘gay’ is a ridiculous insult.”

Crossley smirks. “Are you saying you _are_ gay, Jack? Should I be worried?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying that, but if I were, you _definitely_ shouldn’t be worried.”

Brent laughs, punching Crossley on the shoulder. “Later, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t reply, just watches them walk away and wondering how these are the friends he ended up with when he and Rosie split up the assets. (He knows, of course: She wanted nothing to do with them, even when they were still a couple, and he completely gets why, now. He’s sure they weren’t such morons before.)

“That was cool,” a girl’s voice says behind him and he turns. It’s the new girl, the one who sits behind him in Physics. He’s pretty sure she’s trying to copy his notes; every time he looks around she’s staring. She’s been at the school for all of two months and already she has a reputation for trying to shag her way through the Senior footie team.

Jack thinks of Hugh Collins, who’s on the Intermediate team, and smiles. The kid would probably faint if this girl tried anything on with him.

“They were being idiots,” he says dismissively, because they were.

“Still.” The girl holds out a hand for him to shake and for a moment he stares at it. What is this, 1928? “Phryne Fisher,” she says, still with her hand just hanging there.

He takes it. Her handshake is surprisingly firm, even if it goes on a bit long. “Jack Robinson,” he replies, because it seems the polite thing to do.

“I know.”

Jack realises she’s flirting with him. He wonders if he should tell her he’s not _on_ the footie team, but he imagines she knows that as well. “Uh, we’re late for class.”

She looks like she’s about to say something but then she smiles and walks down the corridor ahead of him, hips swaying.

He tilts his head to one side and watches her, amused, for a couple of seconds and then he follows.

*

Phryne makes her way to her seat, smiling to herself. This is going to be more fun than she expected.

She really only agreed to Mac’s dare or challenge or vague suggestion or whatever you might want to call it for a laugh, and to give Mac an out from the conversation, because she clearly wanted one.

As best friends go, she’s not the most grateful, really. But Phryne will make her come around. After all, what’s the point in _being_ out if you can’t also be _making_ out?

It’s just a matter of finding the right girl, and the right girl is bound to show up eventually.

And in the meantime, she’ll entertain herself with Jack Robinson. He’s better looking than she had realised before, not that she ever spent a huge amount of time thinking about it: The view of his backside during Physics class had been enough so far, and there were plenty of others to look at outside this classroom.

But his face is nice enough as well, she supposes, as she catches him glancing in her direction before he turns his back on her and sits down.

And it _was_ cool how he stood up to his friends. Most guys wouldn’t have bothered.

She likes the fact that he doesn’t seem particularly impressed by her. Because that means she gets to win him over, and there’s nothing Phryne Fisher loves more than a challenge.

It seems Mac has good taste in distractions, which is a pleasant surprise.

At the front of the classroom Mr. Michaels has finished writing on the blackboard and turns around to look at the students. Phryne sits up a little straighter, plasters on her most politely interested smile and prepares for an hour of boredom.

“Alright, class,” Mr. Michaels says, looking around at them. “These are the topics for the rest of the semester; you’ll be working in pairs. Front row and third row, turn around.”

There’s a scraping of chairs and scattered grumbling as the people in those two rows comply, already knowing what’s going to happen.

“Say hello to your new best friends and lab partners.” Mr. Michaels' voice is flat, shutting down any objections they might want to make beforehand.

Phryne doesn’t want to object to anything at all. “Hello, new best friend and lab partner,” she says to Jack Robinson, her smile much more genuine now.

Jack smiles back rather less enthusiastically.

Oh, yes. Phryne Fisher loves a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

“You made this happen, didn’t you?” Mac asks incredulously, picking bits of celery out of her sandwich as they walk from the cafeteria. No way is she eating that stuff unless she just pulled it out of a Bloody Mary.

“Of course I didn’t; how could I?” Phryne grins. “It is pretty perfect, though. It’s like the Universe wants me to succeed.”

Mac rolls her eyes. “Yes, the Universe _loves_ Phryne Fisher.”

“Well, why wouldn’t it? I’m a very lovable person.” She looks so innocent Mac can almost understand how teachers are fooled by her.

But, of course, Mac knows her better. “Sure you are.”

Phryne laughs and they both look around for a place to sit.

There’s a girl leaning against the wall right next to their usual spot. She looks young and scared and like she might faint if they talk to her, and Mac stops walking. That’s definitely _not_ her type. “Somewhere else today?”

Phryne turns to her, confused, and then looks at the girl as well. “Why?”

Mac pulls a face that’s meant to say exactly why, but Phryne just shakes her head and walks over there. So Mac follows, because that’s basically what being friends with Phryne means.

“Hi,” Phryne says, using a kind and friendly voice Mac doesn’t hear very often, like she’s trying to win over a puppy. Which she sort of is, really. “I’m Phryne, this is Mac.”

Phryne holds out her hand, and in her rush to take it the girl nearly drops her lunch - at least Mac assumes that’s what’s in the brown paper bag with a cartoon apple drawn on it - and ends up letting go of the books tucked under her arm instead to save the food.

Out of the corner of her eye Mac can see Phryne smiling, just as amused as inviting now. The girl looks even more terrified, but also ridiculously grateful, somehow. “Dot. Dorothy. Dot,” she says.

“Dot,” Phryne says happily. “I love it.”

Mac snorts and bends down to pick up the kid’s books. Phryne and stray animals, seriously. This is going to be exactly like that time when they were ten and she hid a litter of kittens under her bed for a week before her mother found them and handed them in at a shelter. (Or at least that’s what she told Phryne she did with them, but Mac always had her doubts.)

“First day?” Mac asks, handing over the stack of books.

Dot nods, eyeing Mac’s dyed mohawk nervously.

“She just looks scary,” Phryne says comfortingly. “She’s all bark and no bite, really.”

“Sorry,” Dot says, sounding like she _really_ really means it. “I… I used to go to an all girls school. Catholic. If one of the sisters saw that…” she trails off with a small shrug.

Catholic school? Christ. “Welcome to Wardlow High,” Mac says ominously, but then she smiles slightly as well. “You’ll be fine.”

“Mind if we sit?” Phryne asks, indicating the wall with a nod of her head.

“No, no, of course not,” Dot says quickly, and Mac and Phryne both make themselves comfortable. The girl stays standing on the ground, but turns to them and smiles, nervous but happy, as she places her things on the wall between Mac and Phryne and they all eat their food.

“I do think lab partners is the perfect in,” Phryne says after a while, apropos of nothing.

Dot looks at Phryne, confused.

“Phryne’s convinced she’s going to make that guy fall in love with her.” Mac waves a hand in the direction of the table Jack Robinson’s sharing with a blonde kid she doesn’t recognise.

“Oh,” Dot says, looking mildly impressed. “Uh, which one of them?”

“Well, both would be fun, but the dark haired one,” Phryne says casually, biting into a chip.

Dot breathes what Mac thinks might be a sigh of relief and she smiles, looks at the blonde kid again. She catches Phryne’s eye and her friend nods; clearly she noticed, too.

“Come on,” Phryne says. “Let’s go over and say ‘hi’.”

“Oh. No,” Dot says, shaking her head, her eyes wide.

Mac pats her on the shoulder. “Just go with her. I find life’s much easier when she just gets her way.”

Phryne smirks. “It’s funny, I find that, too.” Then she jumps off the wall, grabs Dot’s hand and drags her along.

Mac shakes her head and digs into Phryne’s chips, watching them go.

*

Jack sits down at his usual table, near the edge of the quad. At the other end of the table a group of year 8 boys are discussing video games like it’s the most important thing in the world. They keep shooting him shy looks, like they’re worried he’ll shoo them away, but the truth is he likes them sitting there. It means he gets left alone.

Except not today, of course, he realises when Hugh Collins comes over, carrying a tray with two sandwiches, a bag of chips and an actual honest to god juice box. Apple/blackcurrant.

Wow.

“Uh,” Hugh says by way of introduction, looking at the empty spot across from Jack.

Jack waves a hand for him to sit down. He’ll definitely need to up his vocabulary before the debate next Wednesday.

Hugh smiles, looking absurdly grateful. “Thanks. I, uh…” he trails off, looking somewhere behind Jack and then sitting down abruptly, like he’s trying to hide.

Jack turns his head and sees Phryne Fisher (his new best friend - yay) having lunch with a couple of other girls. Okay. Hugh will need to up more than just his vocabulary, clearly.

“Want me to introduce you?” Jack offers, partly joking.

“You know her?” Hugh asks, eyes wide. “How?”

“She’s in my Physics class. We’re lab partners.” He tries to say it in as neutral a tone as he can, not like he thinks this girl is the most annoying thing since mosquitoes.

“She’s in year 11?!”

Jack frowns and turns back around to look at the group of girls. The red-haired one (Mac, he’s pretty sure. The only one to do better than him in Biology last year, and also the only one to small-talk less with the rest of the class) is waving in their direction and they all look that way. He turns back around. “Who are we talking about?”

“Dot. The new girl.”

“Oh.” Jack shakes his head. “Yeah, I have no idea who that is.”

He realises he’s about to find out, however, when Hugh’s eyes go even more saucer-like than they were before, and he turns his head to see what’s going on, only to come face to face, well, face to chest, really, with Phryne Fisher.

“Hello, Jack,” she says, looking down at him, a teasing smile and no concept of personal space.

He scoots in a little on the bench, enough to put space between them, but not enough for her to sit down. Miraculously she takes the hint.

“I don’t think I know you,” she says, turning on Hugh, holding out her hand for him. So apparently that’s her Thing, he’s not special, after all. Phew.

Hugh takes it. “Hugh Collins,” he says, nervous but impressively coherent, Jack has to admit.

“Lovely to meet you, Hugh,” Phryne goes on. “This is my new friend Dot.”

Like a robot Hugh holds out his hand to Dot, assuming this is how they make introductions on whatever planet girls come from.

Jack catches Phryne looking at him and smirking and he finds himself smiling back as Hugh and Dot shake hands awkwardly. He has to admit he’s kind of impressed by how she manoeuvred that.

“I’m Hugh,” Hugh says eagerly. “How’s your first day going?”

“I wanted to ask you about Physics,” Phryne says, turning her back on Hugh and Dot, who are still smiling at each other, Dot saying something about how big the place is. “We should probably set up a study date or something.”

The way she says study date wipes the smile right off Jack’s face. “I’m fine to do the work,” he offers. “I’ll just put both our names on the reports.”

Dot’s head snaps around at this suggestion of cheating, but she doesn’t say anything. She just looks expectantly at Phryne, who seems determined to make Jack’s life difficult, because she smiles, this strange mix of Good Girl and very much the opposite of that. “Oh, but that’d be _wrong_ , Jack. We’re supposed to work together.”

How is it that everything she says always sounds vaguely sexual?

“Then what do you suggest?” he asks. If they’ll have to negotiate their way out if this he might as well figure out just how far she’s expecting him to stretch.

“I already suggested,” she points out, more business-like than flirty now, like she’s a little bit bored with having to elaborate. “A study date.”

“Study,” Jack points out. “Not date.”

She smiles, eyebrows raised like _he’s_ the one holding the inappropriate end of the stick. “Obviously. This is schoolwork.” Then she turns away. “Now, Dot, have you seen the library yet? Otherwise Mac and I can give you a tour.”

Jack feels vaguely like he’s been dismissed with a proverbial wave of her hand mid-conversation.

Dot sends another smile Hugh’s way and then turns to Phryne. “I’d love to see the library.”

“Great.” Phryne takes her arm and leads her away. Jack has just turned back to his food when she calls out, “Your place tomorrow, five o’clock?”

He nods, resigning himself to this new reality that’s been forced upon him. When he looks up he sees Rosie watching him from three tables away, turning back to her friends the moment their eyes meet.

Jack sighs, but then he puts both Phryne and Rosie out of his mind and turns to Hugh. “You wanted to talk about the Debate?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads it is, Heavyheadedgal. Thanks for playing. :D

Mac shrugs on her backpack, waves goodbye with one hand, picking up a styrofoam cup of tea in the other, and leaves the nurses’ lounge. She stops at reception, handing the cup to Dr. Katz, who’s by the desk typing up notes from his rounds this morning.

“Thanks, Liz,” he says, not looking up from the computer.

“It’s Mac,” she says for the millionth time. They’ve had this conversation every week since she started volunteering six months ago. (She’d have given up even trying, but one of the interns told her to just keep it up, he wouldn’t have bothered even learning her name in the first place if he didn’t like her.)

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, deleting a few words and then typing them up again, his brow furrowed as he struggles to get the computer to do his bidding.

It’s bizarre, Mac thinks. The man can practically do an appendectomy in his sleep (It wouldn’t surprise her if he had, once) but ask him to use a computer and he’s helpless.

“Would you like me to do that for you?” she offers.

“I don’t think you really should,” he says hesitantly, clearly tempted by the offer, but also reluctant to break the rules any more than they’re already doing, letting her volunteer there at all.

She’s meant to just chat with patients, keep the lonely ones company, maybe do balloon animals for the kids (which is a thing that will _never_ happen). She’s also meant to be eighteen.

Mrs. Samuels, the Biology teacher at Wardlow, set it up; her husband is head of Psychiatrics and sits on the hospital board - and is not particularly stringent when it comes to rules and regulations as it turns out. At first Mac had worried that she’d have to volunteer at the Psych ward, which would’ve been interesting enough, of course, but it isn’t really the field she wants to go into. Too much talk about feelings, which, ugh.

But no, Dr. Samuels had come through spectacularly, getting her a spot in the Aged Care Unit, which is also not what she wants to be doing, but she gets to shadow Dr. Katz sometimes, and he lets her do all sorts of interesting things she _definitely_ isn’t supposed to be doing. And he loves talking about medical procedures and weird diagnoses and his time working for Doctors Without Borders back in the ‘70s when he was just out of Med School. And Mac loves _that_ part of it, even if she does have to listen to a lot of old farts talking about their grandkids.

“Mac? What are you still doing here? Bugger off,” a nurse calls out from down the hall, fluffing up a pillow and heading for a hospital room. “Dr. Bradbury is doing his rounds.”

Mac pulls a face. Unlike Dr. Katz, Dr. Bradbury is _not_ keen on Mac being there, and she usually stays out of his way as much as possible. Not that she’s scared of him, but he seems to have it in for all the female interns and doctors, and Mac is the one person he could actually get rid of if he decided to try.

She mouths a thank you to the nurse and waves goodbye to Dr. Katz and then she heads for the exit. She reaches the door the same time as a dark-haired girl she half-remembers seeing in one of the rooms as she went to get a newspaper for someone.

“Sorry,” the girl says, taking a step back to Mac can open the door and let them both out.

“No worries.” Mac pushes the door open and steps out into the chilling night air.

“Are you, like, a doctor?” the girl asks, following her.

Mac snorts. “No, I’m se--” She cuts herself off, managing not to reveal her age. “I’m just a volunteer. I’m in high school.”

The girl looks slightly put out by Mac’s amusement. “Well, you never know, you could’ve been smart or something. Like Doogie Howser.”

“Who?”

The girl smirks. “It’s a tv show.”

Mac nods, not really sure what to say to that. Could’ve been smart like a fictional character? Sure, why not.

“So you’re here a lot, then? Volunteering?”

“Yeah.” Mac looks towards the bike rack and the bike that’s meant to be taking her home right about now.

“Isn’t it… weird?”

“Weird, how?”

The girl shrugs. “I dunno. All those old people.”

She looks kinda sad, underneath the skepticism, and Mac aims for one of the benches along the path to the gate, wondering to herself why she doesn’t just go home. It’s pizza night, and if she’s not there when they order her dad’ll ask for pineapple on _everything_. “A bit. Do you know one of those ‘old people’?”

The girl sits down on the bench, shooting Mac a grateful smile. “My grandmother. She had a stroke. She can’t even talk; I just had to get out of there for a while.”

The last thing Mac wants is this girl crying on her shoulder about her sick gran, but on the other hand, patient care is something Dr. Katz keeps emphasizing and Mac has the feeling her bedside manner is probably an area where there’s room for improvement. She scratches her thigh, which doesn’t actually itch at all. She goes through the patients she has seen today, trying to guess which one of them might be this girl’s grandmother. There are a couple of options, and none of them are really particularly good, judging from what Dr. Katz was telling his dictaphone. “Sorry.”

The girl shakes her head, like she’s trying to snap out of the funk. “So which school do you go to?”

“Wardlow.”

“I’m at Rippon Lea.”

“Oh,” Mac says, recognising the name. “We have a debate against you guys next week.”

The girl looks impressed. “Volunteering at a hospital _and_ on the Debate team? Wow.”

“No,” Mac says, waving a hand dismissively. She does not want _that_ pinned on her. “I’m not on the Debate team, it’s just my friend who’s trying to… Never mind, it’s a long story and not very interesting.”

The girl looks like she might be interested anyway, but Mac really doesn’t know where to start. How do you explain Phryne Fisher? There’s really no way: Phryne has to be experienced in person or no-one would believe she was real.

Mac smiles to herself, remembering the eager look on Phryne’s face as she told her about the debate. Apparently the blonde kid that Dot keeps looking for every time she walks down a hallway is on the Debate team and he mentioned it to Dot and Dot mentioned it to Phryne, and Phryne immediately decided that it was Providence looking out for her and that they absolutely _must_ go.

Because Jack Robinson is on the Debate team.

Mac has been going over everything she’s ever heard about him during the last couple of days and she’s sort of looking forward to seeing Phryne try to get with that and fail. Not that she wants anything but good things for her friend, of course, but that particular project is so going to be her running her head against a wall and that’ll be fun to watch. And a bit of humility is a good thing. Unless she gets whiny about it, but maybe that’s why Dot has shown up - Providence is looking out for Mac, as well.

“Boyfriend?” the girl asks, clearly misinterpreting Mac’s smile, rubbing her bare arms against the cold.

“Oh, no,” Mac says quickly, because, well, no! “Girl, but no.”

The girl smiles, like that answer wasn’t the most random thing she ever heard, and Mac smiles back, relieved she’s not being asked to explain. (Being ‘out’ is fine, but she doesn’t need to wear a badge telling the whole world. It’s not really anyone’s business.)

“I’m Daisy, by the way,” the girl says, still smiling.

Mac finds herself smiling a bit wider as well. Oh. “Mac.”

The girl shivers and looks around the hospital grounds. Mac digs her hoodie out of her backpack. “Look, I have to get home or my dad’ll try to set a new record for World’s Most Disgusting Pizza Order, but why don't you borrow this, and you can stay out here as long as you want and not catch cold.”

Daisy holds up the hoodie, looking at the print on it and then glancing sideways at Mac. “Nice.”

It's only then that Mac realises this is the hoodie Phryne bought her, black with a punk rock unicorn on it. Well, that’s embarrassing. “I want it back, though,” she jokes. “It’s my favourite.” Whatever. 

Daisy nods eagerly. “Of course. Are you coming tomorrow? I can come by and give it to you then.”

“Nah. I’m only here once a week. You can just leave it at reception, I’ll pick it up there.”

Daisy’s face falls slightly, or maybe Mac’s only imagining that, she isn’t really sure. “Okay.”

Mac gets up, puts on her backpack. “I gotta go. I hope your gran’s gonna be okay.” Well, that’s a stupid thing to say, she obviously isn’t. Mac digs into the grass with the toes of her sneaker.

“Won’t _you_ be cold?” Daisy looks from the sweater she’s already hugging to her chest to Mac’s bare arms.

Mac shrugs. “It’s just a short bike ride, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Mac nods, spends about five seconds longer doing it than any normal person would, and then she walks to the bike rack, shoves her helmet on her head, unlocks her bike and drives away. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Daisy waving, and so she lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and waves back before speeding up and taking the corner much faster than she would’ve done if the security guard had been nearby.

So apparently weepy girls with dying grandmothers are her type. She can’t wait to never tell Phryne that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was heads, so here's tails...
> 
> Also, I am _terrible_ at replying to comments, okay, and I know that and I'm very sorry. Mostly I just don't really know what to say because I am honestly baffled (in the best way possible) that people are enjoying this weird thing that's not supposed to work. But every single comment makes me smile and I appreciate ALL of them, okay? 
> 
> (Oh, and I love IKEA. Just want to make that clear before you read this.)

Jack looks around the living room of the flat he’s sharing with his mother as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

He _did_ see it for the first time only six months ago, when they moved out of the house in Richmond that his father then had all to himself - at least that’s what his mother kept saying, pretending none of them knew about that secretary who handled a lot more than his calendar. But this is different. Back then it was his new home, and he’d either have to make it work or stay with his dad. So basically he had to make it work.

Now he has to make it work in someone else’s eyes as well.

It’s not that he particularly cares what Phryne Fisher thinks of his home. So what if she’s rich and lives in a house he heard someone describe as a mansion? So what if a chauffeur drops her off at school in the morning and picks her up in the afternoon?

But he knows his _mother_ will care, so he can’t help caring as well. And he doesn’t want his mother seeing Phryne Fisher’s face full of disdain and feeling that she’s being judged and isn’t living up to that girl’s standard.

He sighs deeply, checking the clock again; five minutes to five. He wonders if she’s the punctual type or she’ll just show up whenever it suits her. It seems unlikely that he’d be lucky enough that she forgot.

In the kitchen the timer on the oven dings and he can hear his mother hum in satisfaction as she pulls out the batch of freshly baked biscuits.

“I did chocolate chip,” he tells him from the doorway. “No nuts, in case she’s allergic.”

Jack smiles wanly. That would’ve been perfect, though. Jack Robinson, the guy who poisoned Phryne Fisher. It’s a better reputation than ‘Rosie Sanderson’s ex’, anyway. “You didn’t really need to do that,” he says.

She actually comes over and tousles up his hair like he’s five. “Of course I did.”

It’s what she used to do, at the house, whenever he had friends over, and he knows she’s just trying to make everything look normal, but he’s _not_ five, and he doesn’t need her to mollycoddle him.

What he needs is for her to be angry and throw things and say out loud that his dad’s a useless shit and then they can agree on that and stop pretending everything’s perfect when it’s obviously not.

“Thanks, mum.” He smiles more sincerely this time, to make up for all the things he’s not saying but still feels bad about.

“So, is she pretty?” she asks, and he realises she’s teasing him.

“I guess,” he says, considering it for a moment. “If you like that type.”

He’s saved from having to explain what type that is exactly when the doorbell rings. Five o’clock on the dot, he’s actually a little impressed.

He goes to buzz her into the building and his mother vanishes back into the kitchen, probably wiping down surfaces and giving him privacy he doesn’t want or need as he waits in the doorway for Phryne to make it up the stairs. (He should’ve maybe told her the lift is broken, but if she asks he’ll just say he didn’t realise.)

She shows up faster than he expected, slightly out of breath and smiling brightly, like she’s expecting this to be the most fun she’ll have all week.

“Come on in,” he tells her flatly, waving a hand into the hallway-come-living room.

She stops inside and kicks off her shoes (who knew Louis Vuitton made trainers?) and then she takes a look around.

He looks back at her defiantly, waiting for her to say something supercilious, not really sure why he’d expect her to. It’s not as if he has ever heard her do that, about anything. And she was nice enough to Hugh the other day, and that new girl with the doe eyes that Hugh’s all gaga over.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asks instead, although he’s pretty sure she knows she isn’t and she’s only asking to point it out to him.

He shakes his head. “Let’s go to my room.”

He leads the way, deliberately pushing the door wide open. She follows him and then stops in the middle of the room, clearly considering her seating options. In the end she drops her bag on the floor next to his paper bin and sits down on his desk chair, spun around so it’s facing the room instead of his desk, crossing her legs.

He sits down on his bed, leaning back against the wall. “How do you wanna do this?” he asks and she smirks at the unintentional double entendre. “Studying,” he elaborates.

“I’d imagine by reading the book,” she says, and somehow he doesn’t really blame her for the sarcasm in her voice.

He’s saved from what could easily turn into an argument the way his mood is today (memories of the last few months with Rosie running through his mind, that’s how that used to go: One of them always saying the wrong thing, him never quite sure until it happened what the wrong thing was) by his mother suddenly appearing in the doorway, carrying a tray.

“I did some tea and biscuits for you,” she says, smiling her brightest mum-smile at Phryne.

Phryne stretches, looking at the tea things. “That smells divine.”

“Well, I hope you like it,” his mother says, setting the tray down carefully on Jack’s bed, within reach of them both.

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Mrs. Robinson,” Phryne says, smiling so sweetly Jack thinks it might actually be sincere. At least he can see why everyone else seems to fall for it.

“Oh, call me Edith,” his mother says, obviously completely won over. “Now do you want the door open or closed?”

“Open’s good,” Jack says pointedly, not sure if it’s Phryne or his mother he wants to make that clear to.

“Open’s fine,” Phryne says pleasantly. “Unless our study talk’ll disturb you.”

“I’ll just be reading a book in my own room,” Edith says lightly.

Jack watches her quietly as she makes her way back out of the room, studiously ignores her much too encouraging smile as she closes the door against his express instructions. (Seriously, though? Is it _normal_ to have your mum try to play matchmaker? What kind of mother even asks if you want the door open or closed? Not that he minded when he was dating Rosie, obviously, but what on Earth must Phryne be thinking? He _really_ doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea.) “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says.

“About what?” Phryne asks, picking up a chocolate chip biscuit and eyeing it hungrily. “She’s lovely.”

She is, of course, but somehow he hadn’t expected Phryne to think so. He holds up the teapot, offering to pour her some and she nods before biting into her biscuit. She moans with pleasure as she chews and the sound shocks him so much he spills the tea. He looks up at her, embarrassed, expecting her to laugh at him, but her eyes are closed.

“I take it back, your mum isn’t lovely, she’s a genius,” she says a few seconds later, eyes open again.

“I’ll tell her you said so,” he replies, handing her the mug that doesn’t have tea running down the side.

He watches her as she sips the tea, but thankfully she drinks like a normal person, even if her eating is a bit… Well, Brent would probably like it. (Unsettling. What it is, is unsettling, and he’s not entirely sure why it would be.)

“I like your room,” she says, a mug of tea and three biscuits (eaten in silence, thankfully) later. “It’s very… you.”

Jack looks around the room, wondering what that’s supposed to mean, exactly. His room is basically a page from the IKEA catalog, matching birch-look plywood furniture and ugly blue and green bed sheets he hates more every day but can’t bring himself to ask to have replaced. Plus, they match the curtains.

(IKEA might be one of his least favourite places in the world; his mother breaking down in the bed section, having to make a decision on mattress softness with no one else’s opinion to consider; Rosie awkwardly trying to comfort her while Jack just crossed off things in the catalog at random before handing it over to a guy in a yellow shirt asking for “one of each of those,” so they could get the hell out of there.

The fact that the guy just did the order for him without question was all the proof Jack needed that this scene was exactly as embarrassing and uncomfortable as he thought.) 

The only thing on the walls is his racing bike, mounted on a rack opposite his bed.

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically.

She shakes her head. “No, I meant… It’s not pretending to be anything it isn’t. It’s honest.”

Jack stares at her. His room is _honest_?

She gets up and walks over to his bookcase, runs her finger along the spine of his textbooks, organised by school year, and then subject, alphabetically. She notices the system and in profile he can see the corner of her lips curling up.

The shelf above his school books is mostly non-fiction; a random collection of biographies - historical figures and sports legends, a small section on World War One. She reads the title of each one, her head tilted slightly, and then she crouches down to look at the shelf below his textbooks. It’s mostly classics. Austen, Dickens, Conan Doyle. And a Zane Grey collection he inherited from his grandfather.

Suddenly he wants to tell her to stop; somehow the way she looks at everything so carefully seems far too intimate, as if it’s _him_ she’s examining and not just his bookshelf, but it’s already too late. She pulls out his battered hardback of Shakespeare’s complete works, leafing through the dogeared pages. Then she closes it abruptly and stands up, handing the book to him. He takes it, dumbly, and watches her move.

She turns to look at his bike, glancing back briefly at his bookcase. “Do you compete?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, wonders if he needs to elaborate, and then can’t quite help himself. He doesn’t want her to think he’s useless, after all. “The trophies are at my dad’s.”

She turns on him, eyebrows raised in interest, her eyes travelling up and down his body in a way that’s entirely too probing, like she actually can see through his layers of clothing and is examining the muscles underneath. She bites her lip and he has to actually resist the urge to squirm. “So you’re good?”

He shrugs, not wanting to brag but also suspecting that false modesty isn’t something this girl really subscribes to, and nor does he, so what’s the point? “Yes.” 

And he is. It’s why his dad insisted the trophies stay there: so he can still brag about his kid, even if his kid wants nothing to do with him.

She smirks, like maybe she didn’t expect that answer but she’s pleased, and he shrugs, smiling back slightly. “So are you _really_ into Shakespeare or were you just writing a love letter?”

He looks down at the book in his lap and laughs. “Oh, I wrote more than one, can’t you tell?” He leafs through the book quickly, to show her just how worn it is.

She looks at him, clearly trying to decide if he’s joking or not, and he shifts, stretching so he can put the book back where it belongs. His face hidden from view he lets himself feel smug for just half a second. Turns out shutting her up is a lot of fun.

“Why are your cycling trophies at your dad’s if you live here?” Her voice is just a little bit too casual to actually be casual.

He freezes, still stretched across his bed, still looking away from her. So much for shutting her up. Taking a deep breath, he puts on his best blank face and sits back up. “There wasn’t really room for them here.”

This time she clearly knows he’s full of shit, but she doesn’t challenge it, just looks at him, waiting. And for some reason _that_ makes him tell her the truth.

“My dad’s… He likes the trophies. A _lot_.” Jack looks at the tray, runs a finger through the tea he spilled earlier. “As long as he has them, he doesn’t care that I’m not there.”

When he looks up and meets her eyes they’re almost too soft, too understanding, and he clears his throat, looking away again quickly. “He cheated on my mum.” The words leave his mouth and he wants to grab them and shove them back in. Why, why, _why_ is he telling her this? Why is she looking at him like he could tell her anything at all and it’d be okay? They’re _lab partners_ , the the best friend thing is just something Mr. Michaels said because he thinks he’s funny. They are _not_ friends.

“And she left him?”

He nods.

“Good for her.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, steely determination and just a bit of resentment. If they _had_ been friends, maybe he would’ve asked her about that. (Maybe some other time he will.)

Before he can come up with anything suitably casual to say, she picks up her book and turns to the chapter on Newton’s Laws of Motion. “We could build a rocket? For the third law?”

Jack looks at the suggested, much more mundane, experiments in the book and smiles. “Or we can just follow the textbook?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re really boring, Jack Robinson?” she asks, shooting him a sly grin.

“All the time,” he says flatly. “Now read.”


	6. Chapter 6

Phryne waves away the hostess about to come up and offer to find her a table and makes her way to the booth where Mac’s already sitting, reading a menu like she doesn’t have it memorised. They come here _every_ Saturday for lunch, Phryne practically has it memorised by now, and Mac has been coming here for years with her family as well. Used to eat off the kids menu.

“Is today the day?” Phryne asks, scooting onto the red and white vinyl covered bench across from her friend. “You’re finally trying the chili dog?”

Mac shakes her head without looking up. “No.”

Phryne picks up a napkin and starts folding and unfolding it at random, wondering whether, if she does it enough times, the random folds will turn the napkin into a swan.

“Did you invite Dot?” Mac asks, tilting the laminated menu down to look at Phryne over the top of it.

“Yes.” Phryne looks at her carefully, trying to figure out her expression. “Why, do you mind?”

“No. Just wondering.” 

Mac’s expression is blank, not giving much away as usual, but when Phryne narrows her eyes slightly, trying to glean something from the blankness, she smiles, and Phryne relaxes. If Mac really did mind, she’d say so, she’s not really the type to hold back, and they’ve been friends for too long to bother with false niceties. 

It’s just that sometimes those two years they spent on opposite sides of the planet get in the way of the whole Best Friends Forever thing. Emails and Snapchat are fine, but not really the same as actually being there, and they’ve both changed in that time, two plants growing in different directions. 

Plus, they no longer exactly live down the street from one another, and Phryne’s mother probably spends more on clothes than Mac’s mother earns working as a bank teller. Which thankfully doesn’t seem to bother Mac in the slightest, so Phryne gave up trying to pretend that wasn’t the case pretty quickly. Mostly they both just laugh at the way her father insists on going full on nouveau riche with someone else’s old money. (Who really wants faucets with _actual_ gold plating? Apparently Henry Fisher does.)

Dot shows up just a few minutes later, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late. My mother dropped me off a few blocks away.”

Her eyes stray briefly to Mac’s hair and Phryne actually has to pinch herself to keep in a giggle. This girl really is the most adorably old-fashioned thing.

“Did you tell her you were going to church?” Mac asks.

Dot’s eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head vigorously. “No, I wouldn’t lie. I just… asked her to drop me off in front of the church and told her I was meeting two friends from school.”

Phryne and Mac both pull a face, impressed by that subtle deception. 

“Do you guys come here a lot?” Dot asks, sitting down and taking the menu Mac is holding out for her. “Thanks.”

“Every week,” Mac says. “You should get the chili dog.”

“Oh, is it good?”

“Don’t get the chili dog,” Phryne says, shaking her head and throwing Mac a look. “They take the chili part _very_ seriously.”

“Right.” Dot looks at the menu again. “Is the cheeseburger okay?”

“The cheeseburger’s great,” Mac assures her. It’s what she’s been eating here since she was nine and discovered that melted cheese actually isn’t gross.

They order their food, and while they wait for it to arrive Phryne tries to get Mac to tell them stories about the hospital. Usually someone will have done something stupid, and Phryne especially enjoys it when Dr. Bradbury has made a fool of himself somehow. But for some reason Mac’s insistent that nothing special happened this week and keeps trying to change the subject to Dot’s former school and what it’s like having nuns teach you Biology, and on the off chance that this is some weird kink of Mac’s Phryne eventually leaves her to it.

“Okay. I know you’re just dying to tell us, so how did it go?” Mac asks, in between bites of her cheeseburger. “Your ‘study date’?”

Phryne smiles, putting down her burger and preparing to tell the whole story. Except, she doesn’t really know what to say, which is why she didn’t introduce the subject before by herself. “It was… fine.”

Mac grins, clearly pleased. “That means it was terrible,” she says to Dot.

“Oh,” Dot says, caught somewhere between confused and sympathetic.

“No,” Phryne insists. “That means it was fine. I don’t know. I think he… doesn’t dislike me as much as he did before?”

Mac laughs openly at that and Phryne glares at her, but then smiles self-deprecatingly.

“Why doesn’t he like you?” Dot asks.

“Beats me,” Phryne says lightly, not willing to let on that it actually does bother her slightly.

“Jack Robinson’s a bit…” Mac trails off, dipping a chip in mayonnaise and eating it as she tries to come up with the right words to explain this guy she doesn’t actually know very well. “He’s the serious type. Studies a lot, pays attention in class, that sort of thing. Doesn’t go to a lot of parties.”

“You don’t pay attention in class?” Dot asks Phryne, who bites down on a smirk, wondering if Dot will not want to be friends with her anymore after today.

“I do when I have to, but class is kind of boring, and you can learn much more just doing your own thing.”

Mac leans across the table, her t-shirt coming perilously close to a ketchup stain, and stage whispers, “Phryne _does_ study hard, she just doesn’t want anyone to know. She likes people to think she’s a bad girl.”

Dot looks utterly perplexed at that.

“It’s true,” Phryne admits. “It’s why I’m best friends with Mac, she makes me look tough.”

They both laugh and Phryne’s relieved when Dot joins in. She likes this girl, and she gets that she’s the Nice Girl type, and there are some things she won’t be a part of, but Phryne won’t pretend to be something she isn’t just so they can be friends. She’s fine with the fact that Dot goes to church every Sunday, but Dot has to be fine with the fact that Phryne very emphatically doesn’t. If she tried to go to Confession the priest would probably have a heart attack. 

Or a very fun night of thinking about what she told him, maybe.

“So what did he say? What did you say? What happened? Give us all the details,” Mac demands, an expression on her face of very insincere interest. Those really aren’t things Mac cares about, girl talk is not what they do. Which is more than fine by Phryne, she very rarely does, either.

She shrugs. Somehow she doesn’t feel like sharing the fact that Jack’s mother made biscuits and tea for them and clearly couldn’t have been more excited that her son had a friend over, or that Jack lives in the sort of soulless home - six storeys of grey concrete on the outside and generic flat-pack furniture on the inside - that looks like it should be temporary, but probably isn’t going to be.

She could tell them that she liked the way he’d smile at her when she said something clever he didn’t expect, or the way his brow furrowed when he read something he struggled to understand. That, basically, she liked looking at him. Not that there’s anything unusual about that, in general looking at guys is something she likes to do, and Mac probably wouldn’t even notice. But with Jack somehow it’s different, and she doesn’t really know why. 

Yes, she has an agenda, and yes, she _really_ wants to know how a competitive cyclist looks with no clothes on, because she’s pretty sure that’ll be easy on the eyes just based on what she’s seen of him _with_ his kit on, but it’s more than that. Just looking at his face was nice - and making him smile felt good in a way she’s very determined to not examine too closely, because she’s pretty sure all sorts of inconvenient psychological issues will come up if she does, some ridiculous need for praise and admiration from this guy, just because she knows he doesn’t want to give it to her.

“I think he expected me to be stupid,” she says at last, because at least that’s something she feels comfortable complaining about.

Mac pretends to be appalled. “I’m sure you enjoyed very subtly setting him straight?”

“I did. I wasn’t that subtle, though.” 

“Of course you weren’t,” Mac agrees, finishing her burger and wiping her hands with a paper napkin.

“How are things with Hugh?” Phryne asks, deciding it’s time to change the subject, and Dot blushes slightly, in the way that good girls do when they think about boys whose hands they’d maybe like to hold.

“He’s really nice,” Dot says. “I have a couple of classes with him, and he offered to help me catch up.”

“That _is_ very nice of him,” Mac says and Phryne’s pretty sure Dot doesn’t pick up on the slight hint of sarcasm in her voice, how Dot doesn’t seem to have clued in on the obvious agenda Hugh undoubtedly has. Clearly Mac has reached her daily limit for girl talk.

“Oh, and he said we should all definitely come to the debate,” Dot adds.

Phryne smiles widely. “Terrific. Mac and I will _definitely_ both be there.” She throws Mac a look, daring her to say she’d rather sit through Sunday Service, but Mac just nods in agreement, pretending she doesn’t notice Phryne’s surprise and smiling at Dot.

Well, that’s definitely something to investigate, Phryne thinks, smiling to herself. When Mac finally looks back at her and notices her expression, she looks away quickly, and Phryne’s sure she’s not imagining the way her ears are turning slightly red.

_Definitely_ something to investigate.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack leans against the wall of the gymnasium, looking across what’s usually meant to be a basketball or volleyball court (Or, if you have Mr. Maddington for PE, a place for endless games of dodgeball) but has been turned into a debate forum for the evening; two rows of tables opposite each other for the teams, and two podiums facing the stands on one side of the court for the speakers, and in front of the stands the table where the judges will be sitting. He watches as spectators arrive through the main entrance from the school hallway, telling himself he’s looking for Brent and Crossley - late as usual, obviously - but his eyes keep searching for someone else as well. 

His mother’s already up on the stands, sitting there by herself in a worn cardigan and neatly pressed trousers that don’t quite fit her anymore. She looks so lonely it breaks his heart a little bit, and if his father actually turns up, shoving his new wonderful life in her face, Jack might become that kid who punched his own dad in the middle of a debate.

The door opens again, and just like the last five times it happened Jack steels himself for the wave of anger that’ll roll over him when he sees his dad’s face. But instead he finds himself smiling slightly and shaking his head - because he really should’ve anticipated this although he’s not entirely sure why - when Phryne Fisher waltzes in the door with Mac and Dot on either side of her, the most mismatched entourage he has ever seen.

It just seems like the most obvious thing in the world that she should be there, simply because it’s the least obvious thing in the world.

She looks his way and he’s too slow to avert his gaze so she catches him staring. Her face all but lights up and he smiles back reluctantly, then turning his head to look up at his mother, an excuse to look away from Phryne more than anything else. 

But his mother’s looking at Phryne, too, and Jack watches with something like horror and fascination as his lab partner makes her way lightly up the stairs and along the row of seats to come to a stop right in front of his mother, greeting her warmly. Mac and Dot both trail behind her, Dot smiling at his mother as well, Mac mostly busy scanning the room and looking slightly out of place. 

 

His mother and Phryne exchange a few pleasantries (he assumes they’re pleasant, his mother’s smiling, anyway) and then she clearly asks the three girls to join her. Phryne glances down at him, a silent question in her eyes, and he realises she’s actually asking if he’d rather they sit somewhere else than with his mother. 

Jack feels a stab of guilt for all those times he thought the worst of her, but then he smiles and half-nods to indicate approval and gratitude and he’s not really sure what else, and the smile she flashes him in return is completely unsettling. She’s going to wrap his mother around her little finger and when this evening’s over she’ll know every embarrassing story from his childhood. 

He’s already moving, determined to get up there and do… something, but then Hugh walks up to him, coming out of the locker rooms behind him, his face ashen. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” the kid says, and Jack honestly wouldn’t even be surprised. “All the toilets are occupied.”

“No, you’re not,” he says firmly, because maybe authority will work - it’s worth a shot anyway - and then, with a final glance at his mother and Phryne huddled together, he resigns himself to the inevitable and leads Hugh back to the locker rooms where at least there’s a shower he can hurl into.

“What did you have for dinner?” he asks, hoping the answer will be something along the lines of “Just a glass of water.”

“Chicken Korma.”

Jack nods. Fantastic.

*

Phryne settles into her seat next to Mrs. Robinson, well, Edith, and smiles. She watches as Jack leads a very pale-looking Hugh Collins back to the locker rooms. For a brief moment there it actually looked like he was going to come over to them, no doubt to supply her with a list of things she absolutely is not allowed to talk to his mother about. It’s probably good for him that he didn’t, she’d only use it as inspiration for conversation starters.

“Hugh didn’t look too good, did he?” Dot asks, looking adorably worried on Edith’s other side.

“He’s probably out back spewing up his dinner,” Mac says dryly and Phryne bites down on her lip to stifle a giggle. Mac’s almost certainly right, but Phryne would maybe have phrased it a little more delicately.

“You’d be surprised how often that happens, dear,” Edith says, mostly aimed at Dot, who looks too concerned for Hugh’s health to be for real. “Once at a competition in Warragul one of the others threw up all over Jack’s trousers, he had to wear his father’s for the debate.”

There’s a pause, a flash of confusion on Edith’s face as she brings up her ex-husband and Phryne smiles slightly at her, not really sure what to say. If she opened her mouth she’s not sure if, “Good job getting rid of him,” or “You should’ve gotten a better divorce attorney,” would come out.

“Please let it have been Crossley?” Mac says, very nearly looking excited, and effectively ending the slightly awkward silence.

Edith laughs. “You know what,” she says, looking at Mac. “I think it was.”

Even Dot laughs at the ecstatic look on Mac’s face, but Phryne’s attention is caught by a guy leaning against the wall near the locker rooms, very close to where Jack was standing before, his eyes scanning the gymnasium. His black hair is as shiny as her own, and something about his haughty expression has her intrigued.

“Who’s that?” she whispers, leaning closer to Mac.

Mac looks in the direction she’s indicating with a tilt of her head. “Don’t know.”

“Who are you talking about, dear?” Edith asks.

“The boy over there in the green suit,” Phryne explains, studiously avoiding looking at Mac who is no doubt wearing a knowing smirk right now. “I don’t recognise him.”

“Oh, he’s captain of the Rippon Lea team. Lin Chung,” Edith says. “They were up against him last year as well.”

Something about the way she says it has Phryne even more curious about the boy than she was before, but she doesn’t ask any more questions. Jack’s mother probably isn’t the right person to mine for knowledge about other cute boys, after all. 

Instead she leans back in her seat, giving him a coy smile when he catches her looking at him, and then she turns her attention back to the conversation Dot and Edith are having. It turns out they’re discussing baking recipes, though, so she twists in her seat to talk to Mac instead. Mac, however, is looking around the seats, clearly searching the crowd for someone, although Phryne’s pretty sure none of Mac’s other friends would be here. (Bert’s derisive laugh and Cec’s sideways glance were pretty good indicators that they wouldn’t be showing their school spirit tonight. Actually, the only way those two would ever combine the words ‘school’ and ‘spirit’ is probably by getting drunk on Cec’s cousin’s homemade gin behind the bike shed.)

Phryne tilts her head to one side, watching her friend turn her head and stare at the main doors as they slam shut behind new arrivals, and then her face fall when it’s one of the girls Phryne jokingly (or not so jokingly, really, because Mac definitely needs to get out more) suggested as a possible girlfriend for Mac last week.

Mac is absolutely waiting for someone to show up, and just the other day she was totally reluctant to talk about volunteering. So maybe Mac _does_ in fact get out, she’s just good at keeping secrets? Phryne smiles and nudges her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mac says, giving her a blank look. “Whatever. It’s not like I had plans.”

“Still,” Phryne insists, barely able to keep the smirk off her face. “It’s very sweet of you, doing that for me.”

Mac looks appalled. “Keep talking like that and I’ll leave.”

Phryne laughs and hugs her arm tightly. “Please don’t.”

“Have you just realised how boring this is going to be?”

Phryne shrugs, still not letting go of Mac’s arm, just because she knows Mac hates that sort of thing. She watches as Jack and Lin Chung lead their teams into the room and a dull looking - and sounding, as it turns out - man introduces them and starts explaining how the competition is going to work. Lin Chung winks at her. “No, I knew that all along. But it might not be a complete waste.” 

*

Jack spends the entire debate not looking at where his mother is sitting with Phryne Fisher, probably busy telling that story about when he was six and spent half the summer on a stool in the front garden waiting for Buffalo Bill. (With his luck she’ll probably invite Phryne over so she can see the photograph of him sitting there in a cowboy hat and plasticky vest. He’d honestly rather clean up the showers after Hugh than sit through that.)

But as soon as the debate is over and Wardlow is declared the winner - by a margin so narrow he can hear the other team mumbling about home court advantage, which has him rolling his eyes as he walks away - he heads up there, determined to steer their conversation somewhere safe. Not that he really knows what ‘safe’ is with Phryne…

His mother greets him warmly but doesn’t get out of her seat. (They had a very long discussion about hugging in public when he was twelve, and that victory was how he got interested in Debate to begin with.)

“Congratulations,” Phryne says, her smile warm and sincere and incredibly confusing. “Impressive argument about women in politics.”

He smirks, slightly surprised that she has actually been paying attention. “Would you have been equally impressed if I had argued against?”

“No.”

“I guess it’s lucky I didn’t have to, then,” he says, wondering why the hell he’d do that, and regretting it almost instantly when her smile gets so warm he can practically feel the heat from where he’s standing, making its way from his gut to his ears.

She definitely thinks he’s flirting with her, which… he is _not_ flirting with her. And he most emphatically is not flirting with her in front of his _mother_.

Whether he is or not (he isn’t! Why would he be?!), clearly his mother doesn’t want to be there to witness what’s going on, because she says a quick goodbye to everyone, tells Jack she’ll see him at home and disappears.

“I’ll just go and find Hugh and congratulate him,” Dot tells them, looking so earnest Jack’s pretty sure that’s actually all she’s going to do. Say “Congratulations,” and then just stand there and smile.

“And I’m just gonna go… not be here,” Mac says, a look on her face like she thinks she has already had to put up with way too much tonight and there’s no way she’ll hang around for this. Which, considering the fact that she’s wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Silence is golden so STFU’, she probably has.

Jack watches Dot and Mac as they make their way down the stairs and then go off in different directions, Dot to go and hover by the locker rooms and Mac to go and hover by the exit, and then when he feels like he can’t get away with staring at them any longer he turns back to Phryne. 

“So, did you have fun tonight?” he asks, because it’s something to say, and he still can’t quite get over the fact that she’s here. Did she just come here so Dot wouldn’t be on her own or was there some other reason? She hasn’t talked to anyone else that he has seen, except his mother, so he’s sort of running out of motives that aren’t anything to do with him, which is… weird, but not in as bad a way as he would’ve thought a week ago.

“Define fun,” she says, smiling wryly.

“Fun. Providing pleasure, amusement or enjoyment,” he replies, sounding like he’s reading from a dictionary.

“Then not really,” she says, looking more amused than that joke really deserves. “But it’s a work in progress, I guess.”

Right. Jack swallows. 

Her gaze shift from his eyes to somewhere behind him, which is kind of a relief if he’s honest, except that doesn’t last for very long when Brent wraps a muscled arm around his neck, half-choking him from behind.

“What’s up, man?”

Jack grabs his forearm and loosens his hold. “Not much.”

“That’s very sad,” Crossley says, looking from Phryne to Jack, and Jack’s torn between telling him he’s gross and pretending he doesn’t know what he means.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Phryne says, before he can really make up his mind about which one to go with, although he’s pretty sure from the way her lips are just a little too tight that she did understand what Crossley was implying and she’s more into dictionary jokes than dick jokes. “I’m Phryne Fisher.”

She holds out her hand first to Brent and then to Crossley, and Jack’s not surprised by the gesture anymore, but he does notice a difference in the way she’s doing it. Right now it looks less like silly, old-fashioned formality and more like a way to make sure to keep them at arm’s length. 

He looks down at his shoes and smiles.

“What the hell kind of a name is Phryne, anyway?” Crossley asks, throwing a derisive look at her as he shakes her hand, and Jack looks back up.

Her face lights up as if this is one of her favourite questions in the world and Jack finds himself biting down on another smile. Crossley’s about to land himself in _something_ , Jack’s pretty sure.

“Actually,” Phryne says, taking a deep breath, preparing for a lecture. “Phryne was a courtesan in ancient Greece, and she--”

Jack coughs in surprise and Brent and Crossley are both practically salivating over what they clearly think will be quality mocking material. Jack wants to stop her, somehow save her from falling into the hole she seems hell-bent on digging for herself, but he already knows it’ll be useless. She’s determined to explain, and there’s nothing he’d ever be able to do to stop her.

She pauses, looking at him, smirking slightly like she knows what he’s thinking and he shouldn’t be worried at all, so he shrugs, smiling back, indicating that she should go on.

Before she can, however, Crossley cuts in: “You do realise a courtesan is a prostitute, right? You were named after a prostitute.”

She shrugs, completely indifferent. “A very high end prostitute. And that’s not the interesting part, anyway.”

“Oh,” Brent says and then he sniggers. “Did she invent sex toys or something?”

“No, I’m fairly sure they had those much earlier than that,” Phryne brushes him off. “She was accused of a crime, and they were going to find her guilty, so she took off her clothes and they thought she was so beautiful she must’ve been blessed by the gods and they couldn’t convict her.”

“So her tits were a get out of jail free card?” Crossley asks.

“Pretty much, yes,” she agrees.

Crossley nods thoughtfully, looking her up and down in a way that has Jack fairly sure she’s half a second away from kneeing the guy in the nuts. Which, to be honest, Jack wouldn’t object too strenuously to if she did.

Brent seems to sense that he and Crossley have outstayed their welcome in this conversation, so he nods his head in the direction of the door, and Crossley shrugs in agreement. With a nod and a “Robinson,” to Jack, and a final smirk aimed at Phryne’s chest he leaves with his friend.

“How delightful,” Phryne says, sounding half-sarcastic and half-bored, as if she’s almost disappointed that Crossley’s behaving exactly as she expected him to.

“Yeah. They’re, uh…” Jack pauses, trying to come up with an explanation for his friend’s behaviour, but before he can think of one Lin Chung walks up to them. He sighs, preparing himself for a long and pointless discussion about how Wardlow cheated and Rippon Lea absolutely definitely deserved to win tonight’s debate.

Except, Lin Chung gives him only the briefest of nods in acknowledgement before turning to Phryne, a smile Jack’s pretty sure is meant to be charming on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met before. Lin Chung.” He holds out a hand for hers - Jack notices he already has his phone out in his other hand, as if he’s just sure he’s _that_ charming - and when Phryne takes his hand, instead of shaking hers he raises it to his lips as if to kiss it.

At the very last second she pulls back her hand. Out of the corner of his eye Jack can see that she’s smiling, but from this angle he can’t really tell if she’s only being polite, but since this is Lin Chung and she can obviously spot a wanker from a mile away he'd hazard a guess that she's only playing nice. 

“I don’t think the lady’s interested in talking to you,” he says, looking coldly at Lin.

“And I don’t think what the lady’s interested in is _any_ of your business,” Phryne cuts in and when he looks at her she’s glaring at him, very clearly not interested in _his_ help here.

Then she holds out her hand for Lin’s phone, enters her number into it and hands it back to him with a glowing smile. “Phryne Fisher. Call me.”

With a final derisive glance at Jack she walks away, joining Mac and Dot by the exit and leaving without another look back to where Lin Chung has left Jack standing by himself.

He sighs deeply and goes to look for his mother, hoping she won’t have left yet and he can get out of taking the bus. Maybe anecdotes about Buffalo Bill weren’t the worst thing that could’ve happened tonight after all, because something clearly just went terribly wrong, and he’s not even really sure what it was.


	8. Chapter 8

Phryne waves goodbye to Lin and gets on her bike, turning her head slightly to check if he’s still standing there, watching her drive away. She’s vaguely disappointed when she realises he’s already heading back into his grandmother’s restaurant, but it’s probably her ego feeling bruised more than actual disappointment that he’s not pining after her mere seconds after she has left.

That sort of thing would be completely unbearable, and so far she likes Lin Chung and she’d like to go out with him again. Just, maybe he could’ve waved goodbye or something?

When she left the gymnasium last week after the debate, her phone number on Lin’s mobile and a stupid expression on Jack’s face, she regretted her hasty actions slightly, but Jack had just pissed her off so much with his ‘I know what’s best for you’ attitude, and she had let herself be provoked into handing over her number much more quickly than she normally would’ve done. She had half decided to simply ignore Lin’s messages if he ever wrote to her, but his first one - received before she had even made it home - had been interesting enough to reel her in, and the texts they had exchanged over the next few days had proven that he was both clever and charming, and when he had finally suggested a date, she had agreed.

She had been a bit confused when she found out they were going to his grandmother’s restaurant, as if he was too cheap to take her out for a meal he’d have to pay for, but then she had realised that actually he was in fact not so subtly bragging, and this place was just the original of what was now a regular franchise, with similarly “authentic” places spread all over Australia. And the food had been amazing, and Lin had been suitably impressed by her chopstick skills, even if his grandmother hadn’t seemed to be too impressed by anything about her at all - which had been another point in Lin’s favour, obviously.

So far, really, the only thing going against him is the fact that he doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humour, something that would probably make him a bit boring in the long run. But then, she’s not really looking for ‘long run’, so that hardly matters. Just, the joke she had been telling him had had Jack very nearly laughing when they were studying in the library yesterday - she’s pretty sure he was actively suppressing a snort - and Lin had just looked at her like she was telling him it’d probably rain tomorrow. 

On a whim she decides to take the long way home, past the café that makes those green tea smoothies Mac’s always mocking her for drinking. Which is completely unfair, she doesn’t drink it because she thinks it’s healthy, she drinks it because it’s delicious.

She parks her bike, locking it against a lamp post, hoping no-one will want to park their car exactly there in the next ten minutes, and heads inside. After ordering she spends the few minutes until her smoothie’s ready straightening her dress and trying to decide if this skirt will work with her purple Jimmy Choos or not, but then someone slams the door to the toilets really loudly and she looks up, her eyes following the man along the tables as he walks over to his (way too young for him, if you’re the judgemental type, and not wearing a wedding ring that matches his, and why do people get married at all?) date, until her glare is interrupted by a familiar face in the path of her eyeline.

“Jack?” She walks over to him, taking in the school books spread out on the table around him and the empty mug of tea and half eaten sandwich sitting in between a book of Emily Dickinson poems and his pencil case. (It has Buffalo Bill on it. Honestly, this guy is just a fountain of surprises.)

He looks up from his notebook, scribbling another half a word while looking at her like she brought in a smelly dead cat or something. “What are you doing here?”

“I came in to buy a new dress, turns out they don’t sell those here,” she says sarcastically.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m just really tired, I didn’t mean…”

He does _look_ pretty worn out, she realises, and she’s halfway to forgiving him already when he nudges out the chair across from himself with a foot in silent invitation. When she makes a move to sit down he pulls his books closer, making room for her.

“I was in the neighbourhood and had a craving for green tea smoothie,” she says, just as the barista comes over.

“Did you not want this to go after all?” he asks, holding out her plastic cup and eyeing Jack with a half-smile and acting about ten times less flirty when he looks at her all of a sudden. How disappointing.

“No, I’ll drink it here, thanks. I didn’t realise my friend was here.” She takes the cup, throwing her best smile at him. 

The guy nods and winks at her as he walks away, clearly placated by the deliberate use of the word ‘friend’. There’s no need to burn any bridges, after all, and this guy _really_ knows how to wear a pair of jeans, she thinks watching his retreating form.

When she turns back to Jack he’s looking between the other guy’s back and her and smiling a little bit, this hint of amusement like he’s laughing at a private joke and she’s the butt of it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jack insists, shaking his head and then nodding towards the barista, who’s back behind the counter and looking their way as he does a very half-hearted job of cleaning the milk steamer. “So you’re not here stalking _me_ , then?” 

“I’m not stalking anyone, Jack Robinson. I told you, I wanted a smoothie. And that guy is very cute and has a very boring job, I’m just making his day a bit more interesting by flirting with him.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jack agrees in a way that has her wondering if it’s a compliment or an insult.

“So what are you doing here, anyway?” she challenges, trying to put the focus on him instead.

“I came in to buy a dress,” he mocks, doing a pretty terrible impression of her and she grins. “I’m studying.”

“And why are you studying here when you have a perfectly nice desk at home?” She has seen that perfectly nice desk, after all. It wasn’t too messy for studying then and she very seriously doubts it that it will be now.

“It’s Wednesday.”

She nods seriously. “And Wednesday is when your mum hosts sextoy home parties?”

He coughs, clearly shocked but trying his best not to look it and she smirks. “You’ve met my mum, do you really think so?”

She shrugs. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Pretty sure you’re living proof it’s not.”

Her lips curl up in a smile at that. It’s a fair point. “I’m only seventeen, they told me I was too young to be a hostess.”

“I think you have to be eighteen to even participate in those things,” he tells her flatly. She’s pretty sure he’s right, but how does _he_ know that?

“So then what is she doing that you have to be here?”

“Nothing. I just usually go to Brent’s place on Wednesdays.”

“And is _he_ hosting--”

“No,” he cuts her off sharply. “And don’t even say it.”

“So then why aren’t you at Brent’s?”

He shrugs, a gesture she’s beginning to recognise. Sometimes it means ‘I have nothing to say’ and at other times it means ‘I have something to say, but I’m not going to’. This is definitely the latter.

“Did you boys have a fight?” she jokes.

He shrugs again. Definitely the latter.

She takes a sip of her smoothie, wondering if she can wait him out. Sometimes, if she’s just quiet for a while, he’ll tell her things.

She takes another sip.

“What about?” she asks, giving up at last.

“Nothing,” he says, and that’s definitely a ‘nothing’ that means ‘something’, but something he doesn’t want to say.

“Did you argue over a girl?” she asks, half-intrigued, half-disgusted. She doesn’t know Brent very well, but from the bit she knows she’s pretty sure any girl would choose Jack over him in a heartbeat.

Jack’s eyes go wide for just an instant (Right in one, Miss Fisher. Excellent sleuthing, she thinks to herself) and then he’s back to the blank face. “It’s none of your business.”

She is _definitely_ on the right track. A horrible thought occurs to her. “He didn’t hook up with Rosie, did he?” (She doesn’t know Rosie at all and obviously she’s free to do whatever and whomever she wants, but ‘bros before hos’ is a real thing, or so she’s been told, so Brent should’ve probably kept it in his pants.)

“What?” Jack actually looks confused at that. “No!”

“Then who?” She’s only interested for the gossip, obviously. And because if Jack’s into someone else it’ll make her scheme so much more difficult, and she did accept a challenge from Mac, and Phryne isn’t the type to back down from a challenge. But that’s definitely all it is. 

“I told you it’s none of your business,” he insists.

“Oh, come on,” she coaxes. “If there’s someone you like, I can help you out, y’know. Put in a good word for you.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“It’s not Mac, is it?” she suggests. “Because I hate to be the one to break it to you, but…” 

He shakes his head, smiling. “No, it wasn’t about Mac. Although she’s very nice,” he adds hastily.

“Dot?” she suggests, more joking than anything, not bothering to point out that Mac would probably be offended if she knew he had called her ‘nice’.

He gives her a _look_ , this half a second thing that’s like a whole conversation, a shared joke he doesn’t need to put words to, she’ll just know what he means, and she does. “No. Not Dot.”

Dot is too young, too sweet, too Hugh’s and too not Jack’s thing at all. (Although she doesn’t really know what his thing is, she knows it’s not Dot.)

“Then who?” 

He sighs. “Do you really want to know?”

“I really want to know.”

He hesitates for a moment, making up his mind and then trying to decide how to explain. “Okay, so Brent and Crossley may have said some things about you…” He trails off, clearly hoping he won’t be asked to elaborate.

“About me? You defended my honour?” She laughs. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

He looks torn between relief - he was probably expecting another blow-up like the one at the Debate - and something that might be frustration.

“Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but I really don’t care what people say about me. Especially not people like Brent and Crossley whose opinions _no-one_ should care about.”

He looks at her and then down at his books. “What if I care what they say?”

“Then you should learn not to.”

He looks up at her again, their eyes meeting, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at her that makes her feel a little light-headed and like she doesn’t want chivalry to be completely dead after all. Which is annoying.

“Next time I’ll just let them, then,” he says after a few seconds, although she’s pretty sure he won’t be able to. He stood up for Hugh as well, after all. Being all honourable is probably his Thing.

“I’m really sorry, but I think those two are a lost cause. You should probably just get new friends. You know, nicer ones,” she suggests.

He laughs at that. She likes it when he laughs at things she says. “I’ll put an add on Gumtree.”

“Excellent plan, Robinson,” she agrees, nodding mock-seriously. “Why don’t I help you write it right now?”

She reaches for his notebook, as if she’s getting ready to write the first draft of the ad, and he hands her a pen, going along with the joke.

After an evening of discussing Australasian politics and being judged by an old Chinese lady it’s kind of a relief, and when she’s done with her smoothie she orders another one and one for Jack as well, just to prove to him that it really is that good.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack walks up the long drive to the house determined not to be impressed. It’s just a house. Okay, so it’s a massive house and they’re obviously filthy rich, but it’s still just a house. He pauses for a moment on the front step, wide stairs narrowing as they reach a heavy black door, and then knocks. The door is pulled open moments later and then Phryne’s smiling at him as he stands there, not moving at all.

“It’s not much, I know,” she jokes, and he realises his determination didn’t really make it all the way to his face.

He grimaces, feeling awkward and vaguely embarrassed as he steps inside. It’s not that he loves having her come to his place to study (or having to phrase it in such a roundabout way even to himself, to get out of having to use the word ‘date’ in a sentence that’s anything to do with her - because he’s sure she’d be able to hear him thinking it), but now that he’s here, he’s wondering if this isn’t actually worse.

Before, the fact that her family was rich was sort of abstract, something he knew but wasn’t really aware of, because she herself was always so casual about it, but now… He wants to not care, and he’s pretty sure _she_ doesn’t care when she comes to his place that he doesn’t have a swimming pool and probably a bloody tennis court, he wouldn’t even be surprised. But it’s kind of a lot, and if he didn’t think they were completely different before, he definitely does now.

Not that that matters.

His dad would love this place. Would probably make Jack ask her about her father’s business dealings, maybe they could sort something out, golf on Saturday? Eugh.

“Nice shirt,” she says casually as he shrugs out of his jacket, but before he gets a chance to reply, a man appears in the doorway to what he assumes is the living room - or whatever you call it when there are probably three of them for different times of day. He’s wearing a black suit and smiling kindly, and for a moment Jack thinks it’s her father, but then the man looks at Phryne.

“Will you be needing refreshments, miss?”

“Maybe some tea, thank you. Oh, Mr. Butler. This is Jack Robinson. We’re lab partners in Physics.”

“Very good, miss,” Mr. Butler says, clearly filing away this information for the future. Maybe ‘Lab partner Jack Robinson’ is how he’ll be introduced if he ever comes to visit again and Phryne doesn’t beat the guy to opening the door, which he gets the impression is something she insisted on doing this time. She got there so quickly he wonders if she’s been hanging around in the hallway waiting for him to turn up just to make sure Mr. Butler didn’t get there first.

“Will there be anything else?” Mr. Butler asks, producing a coat hanger out of nowhere and hanging Jack’s jacket on it. Jack’s pretty sure the thing hasn’t even seen one of those since he took it down to try it on in the shop last year.

“No. Thanks.” She smiles at him and he nods, smiling back and then walking away.

“You have a butler named Mr. Butler?” Jack asks incredulously as Phryne leads him into the room Mr. Butler arrived from. The room is about the size of Jack’s entire flat, and behind a sofa arrangement, neatly arranged in front of an ornate fireplace, a grand piano is backlit by the sun glaring in through wide patio doors.

“He’s much more than just a butler,” Phryne says, throwing herself down onto the sofa, taking up most of it. “But yes. We have a butler named Mr. Butler.”

Jack sits down in an armchair, trying not to look as uncomfortable and out of place as he feels.

“Mum persuaded him to move to Australia with us, she’s convinced the house will fall apart if he’s not here. She’s probably right, to be honest…”

“Why do you call him ‘Mr. Butler’? Isn’t that a bit… formal?”

She shrugs, her shoulder pressing into the soft cushion. “He calls me Miss Fisher, and I couldn’t make him stop. So I call him Mr. Butler. I guess he prefers that?”

Jack nods although he’s not really sure he gets it. But then he never had a butler, so why would he?

Mr. Butler turns up with a tray of tea and unasked for biscuits. As he lays everything out neatly on the coffee table Phryne sits up, waiting politely for him to finish, while Jack tries to decide where to look. It’s one thing having your mother waiting on you when you have friends over, but having an actual butler do it feels a bit awkward.

“There you are, miss,” Mr. Butler says and when Phryne smiles at him he dismisses himself, closing the double doors to the hallway behind him when he leaves.

“They won’t be quite as good as your mother’s, but still delicious,” Phryne says, picking up a biscuit.

“That’s a relief,” Jack blurts out, still haunted by the memory of Phryne biting into one of his mother’s chocolate chip biscuits. It’s something he should probably be trying harder to forget.

She smirks, and although she doesn’t say anything he’s pretty sure she knows what he means.

“So when is your next debate?”

“Next week, in Bendigo.”

“That’s pretty far.”

“It’s a statewide competition,” he points out.

“Oh. But the last one was against another Melbourne school, wasn’t it?”

She knows very well that it was, of course. She was there. Which is _not_ something Jack has forgotten.

“Why are you so interested? Do you wanna join the team?” he asks, only half joking. He wouldn’t even be surprised. And it’s something to ask about that isn’t whether or not she ever heard from Lin Chung.

Which he absolutely doesn’t care about, except Lin is kind of a dick and she could definitely do better.

“I could be on the debate team,” Phryne says. “I have opinions.”

He looks at her. _That’s_ definitely true. “It’s not just about having opinions, you have to be able to argue points of view you don’t actually agree with. Could you do _that_?”

Phryne smirks. “I do that all the time.”

“When have you _ever_ not just said whatever you meant?” he asks incredulously.

“I told you that was a nice shirt. It’s not.”

Jack looks down at his shirt and then back up at her. She’s grinning, but there’s no malice in her amusement. She isn’t mocking him for dressing up to come to her home, she’s just telling him it’s an ugly shirt. Which, yeah. “My mum made me wear it.”

She laughs at that, her whole body actually shaking, and he smiles, watching her.

When she has calmed down (it seems to take forever and not long enough at all, and Jack wonders if it’s at all normal to like the sound of someone laughing that much? Especially when you’re not entirely sure you actually like _them_ that much) she fixes him with what would’ve been a stern look if she hadn’t still looked ready to burst out laughing at any moment. “Jack Robinson, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he says flatly.

“And does your mother lay out clothes for you _every_ morning, or only sometimes?”

There’s no way he’ll tell her the truth, of course. That his mother is so keen on him making a good impression that she actually ironed this shirt and _made_ him put it on before he came here. “Always,” he says flatly and lifts up one leg. “Want to see the socks she picked out?”

He realises he hasn’t thought this through at all when she leans forward and says enthusiastically, “Definitely,” and he’s forced to pull up the leg of his trousers to reveal a sock sporting a pretty horrific Iron Man print up the ankle. A print that wasn’t revealed by the plain red of the foot she's been able to see until now. A print that to be quite honest he had completely forgotten was there.

She stares at it for about two seconds until he quickly pushes the trousers back down and crosses his ankles awkwardly.

“Your mum has pretty eclectic tastes.”

He snorts, amused and relieved. And slightly worried that this’ll come back to haunt him at some point in the future. 

“Anyway, there’s nothing I can do about those socks, and they’re kind of hilarious so it’s fine, but we can fix the shirt a bit, at least,” she says, getting up and coming to stand right in front of him, one foot nudging his legs apart so she can crouch down between them.

He stares at her as she reaches out and undoes the top buttons of his shirt until it gapes open halfway down his chest, her fingers working more slowly than he thinks she’d need to. Surely she has undone buttons before? (Rumours would certainly indicate that she has, although Jack would be more than willing to put about 90% of that down to locker room exaggerations.) She leans back to take in the effect of it fully, head tilted to one side, then gets back to work. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when she closes the last button again.

He swallows.

Her hands move to his sleeves, and she folds them up one at a time until they’re bunched up just below his elbows in a way that looks disheveled but he’s sure is completely thought through. There are probably whole articles written about how to make your sleeves look casual. Hopefully she won’t make him read one. Her hands stay on his exposed forearms, fingers brushing the skin lightly, making the hairs stand on end.

“Okay, stand up,” she says suddenly, rolling back onto her heels and smiling at him, completely business-like now, as if she wasn’t just… He doesn’t even know what she was just doing, but he’s pretty sure he should’ve been asking her to stop several minutes ago.

He looks down at her. The way she’s sitting her face would be exactly level with his… “No.” It’s not just the hair on his arms she’s got at attention right now, and he silently curses his hormone-crazed teenage body.

She rolls her eyes but lets it go and for about two seconds he’s relieved but then he sees her hands moving to his waist.

He grabs her wrists, hard. Much harder than he intended, he realises when she gasps. He doesn’t let go, though, but loosens his grip slightly. “Sorry.”

“You can’t walk around with your shirt tucked in like that, it’s incredibly uncool,” she tells him, her eyes on his chest.

God, does she really not know? Is this actually his lucky day? “I’m incredibly uncool,” he insists. A drop of sweat makes its way down his back and his ears are burning. Definitely not cool.

“Come on, let me just--” She tries to wrestle free, basically attempting to shove her hands at his groin, and his grip tightens as he forces her arms to the side, pinning them against the armrests of the chair. He’s not even sure what he’d say to explain if Mr. Butler turned up right now, but he’s sure it all appears pretty dodgy.

She looks at him, eyes wide and lips forming a perfect, surprised O but then suddenly she smirks, and it’s the single-most smug and sultry thing he has ever seen in real life and he lets go of her as if she’s on fire.

“No,” he says again, half determined, half desperate.

She laughs softly, almost a giggle, and then she gets up, pushing against his knees, making his whole body tense up even more at the unexpected touch.

He watches her as she sits back down on the sofa, wondering what her next move will be and trying to focus at least two brain cells on trying to work out what _his_ should be. Which isn’t something he really needs to be thinking about at all, since he does _not_ like this girl. Not like that. (And since he isn’t Crossley, that kind of matters.) That’s not the kind of move he means.

But she just picks up her book and starts reading, quietly sipping her tea as if nothing ever happened, either done with her game or giving him a chance to recover so he'll be ready for round two, he isn't really sure. He picks up his own book, digging it out of his backpack with hands he hopes she doesn’t notice are trembling slightly, and after a few minutes he manages to actually focus on Newton’s Third Law.


	10. Chapter 10

Phryne hesitates, her hand already poised to knock on the door. She should’ve used the buzzer, of course, but someone was leaving just as she arrived, and it seemed rude not to go in when he was holding the door open. Just, this would probably be less awkward _not_ done face to face.

Not that she particularly minds awkward, of course, but there’s a very real chance she’s completely wrong. And she _does_ particularly mind being wrong, so she’d rather not have it shoved in her face too openly if she is. 

She looks around the dirty, greyish hallway, wondering how it’d look under forensic lights. Shuddering slightly she takes a steeling breath and knocks on the door.

Just a few seconds go by and then there’s a bit of shuffling on the other side of the door - she smiles at the peephole, assuming she’s being watched - and then a chain guard is being released, a latch unlocked, and the door is pulled open.

“Phryne. Hello darling,” says Mrs. Robinson. Edith, Phryne reminds herself. “I’m sorry, Jack isn’t home tonight, he’s at a debate. Did you two have plans?”

She looks so worried, her expression all maternal kindness, and Phryne’s pretty sure it’s not just for her son. She’s actually worried for _her_ and that Jack might’ve stood her up and her feelings are going to be hurt. She smiles brightly, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels right now. She’s Phryne Fucking Fisher, she doesn’t need anyone mothering her. Not her own mother, which is probably lucky, and not someone else’s. “Oh, right. I just came by to see if I could borrow his Geography book. I know Jack took Geography last term. I’ve left mine at school and I have some homework due tomorrow,” she says, reeling off the excuse she came up with before leaving home.

She knows about Jack’s debate, of course. She also knows Jack’s dad is there and therefore his mother is not.

She also knows - courtesy of a bitter comment Jack made to Brent at school last week about his useless wanker dad - that today is Edith Robinson’s birthday.

(“He’s such an arse. Said mum obviously had plans tonight and wouldn’t be able to come, so he would. What was I supposed to say? No, she doesn’t? Arsehole.”

It’s the angriest she has ever seen him and when he stops talking she can tell that even he’s surprised by the outburst. Brent on the other hand just shrugs and gets another coke from the vending machine.

Phryne turns around slowly, somehow suspecting that Jack would not want to meet her eye and realise she heard that.)

“Of course you can, dear. I’m sure he won’t mind. You can just go grab it from his room.”

Phryne bites her lip as she steps inside and shuffles out of her trainers. She’s pretty sure he _would_ mind her going into his room when he’s not there. Actually, she’s pretty sure he’s not exactly a fan of her being there when he is. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you.”

As they walk through the living room area, Phryne notices the half-eaten piece of cake with a candle in it and the glass of wine on the coffee table. 

“It’s my birthday,” Edith says with a self-deprecating smile. 

“Really?” Phryne asks, overdoing the look of surprise terribly. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, dear.”

They stop at the closed door to Jack’s room and Phryne has to resist an urge to knock although she knows there’s no-one in there. She pushes the door open and goes inside, grabs the book quickly - it’s easily located thanks to Jack’s meticulous bookshelf organisation - and hurries back out. She doesn’t even look around to see if he changed anything.

Except the sheets. He changed the sheets. And he’s reading one of those Zane Grey books. And there’s a cycling trophy on his desk that wasn’t there the last time she was here.

But that’s honestly all she saw.

She turns around, closing the door quietly behind her, like she’s a burglar trying to sneak out, and then she looks at Edith. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, dear.”

There’s a silence as Phryne wonders how best to proceed, and if she should at all. Perhaps Edith really would rather spend the evening alone. Just, Jack looked like he minded her being on her own. “The, uh, the cake looks delicious,” she says stupidly. It’s true, though. And those biscuits the other week were incredible. Maybe the cake is just as good.

“It is. Jack made it, actually.”

“Jack baked a birthday cake?” Okay, now she _has_ to try it, whether Edith Robinson wants her to stay or not.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear. Jack has a lot of hidden talents.”

Phryne doesn’t mean to, but she laughs. Hopefully they’re thinking about very different potential talents right now.

“Boys should learn how to cook,” Edith insists with a firmness that’s a little surprising. “They can’t just expect to grow up and marry someone who’ll do the housework for them.”

“Definitely,” Phryne agrees. Not that she’s planning on getting married anyway, but no-one should expect _her_ to, that’s for sure.

“Would you like to stay for some cake, or do you have to go home and finish the homework?” Edith asks, hesitating slightly.

Phryne looks down at the book. She finished that assignment two days ago and her own Geography book is in her backpack. “No, I have time,” she says quickly.

Edith smiles, looking genuinely delighted. “Have a seat, then, and I’ll bring you a piece.”

She returns a few minutes later, carrying a plate with a massive piece of cake and a wine glass with something sparkling in it. “It’s lemonade,” she says as she sets it all down on the table.

Phryne smiles. This woman really is impossibly sweet. “Thank you.”

“I know you kids drink alcohol,” Edith says, sitting back down after placing the plate and glass in front of Phryne. “I’m not that naive. But what would your parents think if you came home drunk after picking up a school book.”

“I don’t think anyone would notice,” Phryne says casually, digging into her massive piece of cake with the cake fork Edith provided. Which was clearly a mistake, because the woman looks appalled. “My mum is in Europe at the moment and my dad is… he… works a lot,” she explains evasively, somehow feeling uncomfortable lying to Edith. But it’s true, sort of. Her dad is almost certainly working on _something_ , but it’s probably either his fake tan or his tango. The horizontal kind.

“Oh, is she going to be gone for long?”

“Few months, probably.” Phryne takes a sip of her lemonade to get out of explaining further. How her mother can be cooped up at the estate in Somerset complaining about the weather in Australia and how she can’t possibly return just now defies any kind of logic Phryne’s willing to even attempt to grasp, and she probably wouldn’t do a very good job retelling it.

Edith places a consoling hand on her shoulder, and Phryne stiffens briefly, but then relaxes. “I’m sure she misses you terribly.”

Phryne suspects they miss each other equally little, but poor Edith would probably have a heart attack if she told her just how much she doesn’t mind her mother staying away, so she just shrugs.

“I feel awful for Jack that his father and I don’t live together anymore, but at least _he’s_ just across town.” She stops rubbing Phryne’s shoulder, her fingers fiddling mindlessly with where her wedding band used to be.

Phryne spent about six months in her early teens leaving not-so-subtle hints around the house for her own mother. _Divorce For Dummies_ , a magazine open to an article about _How To Tell That It’s Time To Dump Him_ , a travel catalog of only singles holidays. Not that it helped, of course.

Her parents may be spending half their time on different continents these days, but undoubtedly her mother still wears that ring every damn day, and she still cries into half-drunk glasses of champagne over her husband’s serial infidelity.

“I think Jack’s fine with it,” she says, not entirely sure it’s the truth exactly. He’s obviously _not_ fine with it, but not for any reasons Edith should feel bad about. “I think he’d rather that you’re happy on your own than stay with his father for his sake.”

Edith smiles, but Phryne can’t help but think she doesn’t exactly look like the image of the happy divorcee they put in magazines. 

“Really.”

Edith sighs, but then seems to pull herself together. “Listen to me moaning, you shouldn’t have to listen to that, poor girl,” she says, straightening her back. “Now tell me about school. Are you doing any interesting after school activities?”

Phryne smirks and stuffs another forkful of cake into her mouth to hide it. She is, but not the kind she’d want to tell Edith about. “Mmm,” she says, shaking her head as she chews. “I’m not really much of a joiner. This cake is really good, though.”

Edith smiles. “I remember, my best friend and I joined the swim team when I was in high school. Or we tried to. The coach realised fairly quickly we were more interested in watching the boys’ team than in improving our own breaststroke, kicked us right off the team.”

Phryne laughs, surprised. “My best friend’s gay, so…” She trails off, ultra casual. She really, really likes Edith, but she might be about to like her a lot less.

“Oh.” Edith nods thoughtfully. “In my day I think they called that ‘confused’.”

“Mac’s definitely not confused.”

“Well, perhaps she’d be happy with just the girls’ team, then,” Edith says drily, sounding almost exactly like Jack.

“I’m not sure that’d help her technique any, though,” Phryne says, genuinely impressed by this reaction. She’s not sure her own mother will be nearly as cool about it.

Edith laughs. “Perhaps you should try something else, then. What about debating? Lord knows they could use some girls on that team.”

Phryne shakes her head. “I think I’ll leave debating to Jack. He’s pretty good at it.”

Edith gives her a look that might be knowing, except Phryne’s pretty sure she doesn’t know what she thinks she knows, because that’s not what she meant to suggest at all. Or whatever.

“What else did you get up to when you were in school?” Phryne scoots back on the sofa, bringing her plate of cake with her and curling her legs up under herself. She looks expectantly at Edith who hesitates briefly but then copies her, a look of pleasure on her face that makes her look a lot more like a schoolgirl than the sad ex-wife of some arsehole.

“When I was about your age I went out with this boy who had a motorcycle. He was terrible news, of course, and it ended quickly and in tears, but ohhh,” she trails off dreamily and Phryne smiles, waiting for more details.

It’s only when a key is turned in the lock and the front door is pushed open that Phryne realises how late it is. She had totally planned on being out of here before Jack returned.

He stops in the doorway, staring at the two of them.

“Hello, dear. How did it go?” his mother asks, twisting around to look at him, completely oblivious to Phryne’s discomfort and Jack’s surprise. Or maybe just pretending to be, Phryne isn’t really so sure anymore. This woman is a lot more observant than she had first thought.

“We won.” He looks at Phryne. “What are you doing here?”

It sounds like an accusation and she opens her mouth to make a pithy retort, but Edith beats her to it. “Phryne came by to borrow a schoolbook from you and I asked her to stay for some cake,” she says in a voice Phryne has never heard before but recognises instinctively as ‘mum-voice’. 

“Right,” Jack says, chastened but still eyeing Phryne suspiciously.

“Would you like some cake?” Edith asks, clearly making some effort to diffuse the tension.

“I can get it myself,” he says, heading for his room to drop off his things. He’s still in his uniform, his blue blazer hanging open to reveal a shirt and tie instead of the usual polo. 

Phryne very deliberately doesn’t stare. Much.

“No, no, let me,” Edith insists, getting out of her seat before Jack can even open his door. By the time he turns around she’s already gone.

“So you didn’t go to see Rippon Lea debating, then?” he asks, looking at Phryne and somehow managing to make the question sound like an insult.

She glares right back at him. “No! Why would you think that? Mac asked the same thing. I went on _two_ dates with Lin, I’m not president of his fanclub.”

“I’m sure they’d at least make you vice president if you ask nicely,” he says sarcastically.

“Here you are, dear,” Edith says loudly from the doorway to the kitchen, just a hint of warning in her tone.

Jack smiles at her, not quite managing to look apologetic, as he accept the plate and glass she hands to him.

“It’s lemonade,” Phryne says, indicating the glass and smiling brightly.

He closes his eyes and she can see him taking a deep breath. Probably hoping that when he opens his eyes she’ll have vanished.

She doesn’t.

“How did that Collins boy do today?” Edith asks after a long stubborn silence.

“Fine.” Jack looks up from his piece of cake. “Didn’t throw up this time.”

“That’s progress,” Edith says, looking at Phryne and smiling.

“Yes.” He washes down a large mouthful of cake with his glass of lemonade, then takes another mouthful. Still chewing he spears the last piece of the cake with his fork and shoves it in his mouth, which is half-full already.

He’s clearly doing it so he can get rid of her faster, but Phryne’s still impressed by the effort, and when he sets down the empty plate on the coffee table and smirks at her, she smirks back.

Edith looks from one of them to the other and then picks up all three empty plates. “I’ll just go wash these and you kids can talk,” she says, sounding slightly like she’s not sure she’s doing them or herself a favour by leaving the room.

“I’ll show Phryne out,” Jack says, getting to his feet as well.

His mother opens her mouth, undoubtedly to chastise him, but Phryne gets to her feet as well. “It’s getting late, I should probably be getting home,” she says, smiling politely at Edith.

“Okay, dear,” Edith replies, still not quite convinced. “It was lovely chatting with you. I hope you haven’t been too bored.”

“No, not at all,” Phryne says sincerely, ignoring Jack completely. 

Edith hesitates briefly, then, stacking the plates in one hand, she walks over to Phryne and hugs her tightly with her free arm. “See you soon, sweetheart.” She lets go again before it can occur to Phryne to feel awkward about it, and throws a pointed look at her son before heading into the kitchen.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay,” Phryne hisses, a whisper that is all angry consonants as she starts putting on her shoes. “I felt bad for your mother because it sounded like she’d have to be alone on her birthday. I _had_ planned on leaving before you got here.”

She can feel her chin jutting out, her face pulled into a stubborn grimace as she stands back up, willing him to believe her. Dare or no dare from Mac, there are limits to how far she’ll go to get a boy to like her. And stalking him when he’d clearly rather never talk to her is definitely beyond that limit. But Edith is nice and she shouldn’t be punished for having such a prat for a son, since obviously she’s doing her best with what she has to work with, and Phryne’s more than willing to assume that Jack gets his dickish attitude from his father.

But then his shoulders sag, anger leaving him like air from a deflating balloon. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says, unable to hold back the sarcastic snarl.

He smiles faintly, just a hint of it in the curl of his lips and the crinkling of his eyes, but it’s enough. He believes her. “Okay. Then _I’m_ sorry. Thank you.” He turns his head and looks towards the kitchen where they can both hear his mother doing the dishes, clanking plates against each other much louder than anyone needs to. “She clearly adores you. She should probably have her head examined.”

“A lot of people adore me, maybe you should have yours examined,” she jokes, still mildly offended by his attitude to her being there. Never mind the fact that he wasn’t supposed to have known about it at all, now he does and he could honestly be a lot nicer about it.

His eyebrows shoot up, but he’s smiling properly now. “Maybe we should have _you_ examined.”

She smirks, tries to hold in the retort but then gives up. “Are you saying you want to play doctor, Jack?”

To her amazement - and delight, because this is not how she had expected the evening to turn out at all, but it’s a very pleasant surprise - he looks her up and down slowly, his eyes finally meeting hers with something she’d like to think is a challenge. The fun kind. “No,” he says after enough time has gone by to make her think she might actually combust, although she can’t seem to look away from him to save herself.

Then he holds out a hand to shake goodbye, his fingers wrapping around hers for just a second longer than they’d need to, and she leaves, practically skipping down the stairs and humming ‘Happy Birthday To You’ to herself.


End file.
